Cholo

(19) Diecinueve

The living room was clattered with objects strewn about in a disorganized manner. And graffiti sprayed on the walls took away the homey feel. I kicked away an empty bottle as I paced the length of the room. My arms were once again wrapped around my stomach. There wasn't much to ponder about; I was too exhausted to bother myself with excessive thinking. It was useless to plunge myself into all the alternative universes in which the upcoming conversation could go. He either accepts the child and stick to the role of being of a father, or I end it.

My fingers latched onto my necklace, and unconsciously I began to toy with it. The thought of ending a relationship that not only is ingrained into me but is something I cannot 'untangle' myself from. Shaking my head as if to clear the negative thoughts clouding my mind. I flung myself onto the nearest couch. All this huffing and moaning in fear won't do me no good. Turning on the TV, I flipped through the channels, not looking for something in specific but yearning for some sort of diversion.

And for some unbeknownst reason, I stopped flipping on a documentary about whales. As the clock ticked in the background, the dim lit room was flooded by the colors of the ocean. I sat mesmerized by the blues and greens dancing on the ceiling. I wasn't aware of how exhausted I was until I was jolted awake by the slam of the door.

Laughter followed the slamming as a trio of exuberant cholos swaggered into the living room. Unconsciously and almost instantly, I placed my hand onto my belly. A repeated action of protection. The nerves that I have buried erupted from it's grave. I felt the flips and shifts of nerves at the pit of my stomach. I wasn't aware that I zoned out or that I was clutching my sides tightly, until warm hands cupped my face.

I blinked twice; snapping the cord of daydream and falling back into reality. The obnoxious cholos were no longer in the room, and the TV was switched off. I furrowed my eyes in confession. There was no whale or ocean colors flooding the room but bright artificial lighting that seems to irritate my eye sight. The touch was soft, and it lingered warmly. I snapped my gaze at him. He was kneeling in front of me with his hands cupping my face; his thumb caressed my cheeks.

"You OK, mi vida [my life]?" He asked in a concerned whisper.

I chewed on my lips, fighting the urge of putting on a smile and dismissing his concern with two words: 'I'm fine'. I forced my gaze onto the black TV screen. I watched as the specks of dust gathered on top of surface into a thin layer, barely visible to the fleeting eye but to me it felt like any diversion, no matter how small was ten times visible. I shuddered as his hand brushed down the length of my exposed arm. It drew me back to reality. I have to speak or forever hold my silence - or until my baby bump shows. That is unless I keep it. And as if the veil of diversion broke in a sudden moment; I was flung back into the living room with Oscar kneeling before me.

I lightly gave his hands a squeeze before pushing them away. Standing up, in wavering way, I paced towards the TV, making sure that my back was facing him. "I need to tell you something." I was taken aback by how bold I sounded; it was squeak that left my lips but a loud and clear sentence.

I did not hear him walk towards me, but I felt his arms snaking around my waist. He tried to pull me into him but I held my ground. I did not trust my body when it came to his. I wetted my lips as I stared down at the TV. "Oscar, por favor," I shrugged him off, stepping closer to the TV set, "if you ever had kids would you treat them like you treated Cesar?"

"What?" He sounded confused as he tried to reach out and touch me. I flinched away; it hurts to resent someone you love and crave their touch. Slowly and almost hesitant, I twisted my body to face him. Although, my body faced him, my eyes were averted.

As I gulped, I heard echo as sweat gathered in my palms. Grabbing my abdomen with agency, I blurted the three words I had been dreading: "I am pregnant."

After I had uttered the words, Oscar had slumped onto the sofa. He lazily leaned back and lighted a blunt. I scrunched my nose, feeling the urge to pinch it shut. His silence had heatwaves crawling up my body. And his lazy attitude made me yearn to scratch my skin and yank my hair. I wanted to shout and jump in my spot aggressively but by some miracle I maintained myself, and possibly my dignity. 

Sighing as I checked my watch. It has been twenty minutes and Oscar was still silent. Shook my head, yanking my handbag from next to him. I made my way towards the door. 

"I would never hurt our kid." Barely audible, and hoarse. Yet I heard him nonetheless. I stopped a mere inches to the door. 

"You're a Santos," I screwed my eyes shut as I sniffled, "you'll always hurt us."  

___________________
*Spanish is not one of the languages I speak, I know some phrases and such; but I was mainly using the internet and google translate- please notify me of any errors.*
___________________
This is purely a fan fiction.

I do not own "On My Block" or any of it's characters all rights are reserved/belong to Netflix. The plot and story of the series belong to Jeremy Haft, Eddie Gonzalez, and Lauren Lungerich. Directed by Lauren Lungerich. As such all claims are reserved to Netflix, and those listed prior to this sentence.

I only own characters that do not appear on/part of the series.